


as you wish

by sparxwrites



Series: Perc'ildan AU [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, Guilt, Hate Sex, M/M, Marking, Painplay, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Head <i>down</i>, de Rolo,” he mutters, winding his fingers into Percy’s overlong, pale hair and shoving. The heel of his palm finds the base of Percy’s skull, meets resistance when first Percy’s nose and then his face hit the mattress and refuse to go any further. “I don’t want to see your damn face right now.”</p><p>(In which both Percy and Vax are fucked up and broken and <i>wrong</i>, and they know it, and deal with it in entirely the wrong ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	as you wish

**Author's Note:**

> [an anon over on my writing blog](http://sparxwrites.tumblr.com/post/148799893816/dude-i-need-more-percildan-hatesex-au-hurt-my) made enthusiastic noises about perc'ildan hatesex and i caved, because i'm weak. not sure this is _quite_ what they were after, but there you go...

Vax isn’t sure why he always ends up on top. He has no doubts Percy’s stronger than him - rogues are designed for stealth and accuracy above all, not upper body strength. He’s hardly a weakling, but he’s seen the kickback on Bad News, seen Percy at his forge with his shirt sleeves rolled up, working metal, and knows he shouldn’t end up winning every time.

Perhaps it’s luck, perhaps it’s Percy’s guilt. Perhaps Percy likes it like this, losing the strange half-fights that are a prelude to stranger, half-fighting sex, ending up scratched and bruised and shoved down against the bed to be used like he’s nothing. Vax doesn’t know. He hasn’t asked, doesn’t intend to start now.

Either way, he’s not complaining. His attention is focused entirely on the dipped curve of Percy’s back, too-pale and too-thin, scored down with the evidence of Vax’s nails against it not so long ago - and the way it’s straightening as Percy slowly raises his head to gasp pleasure, or something close to it, into the low light of the room.

“Head _down_ , de Rolo,” he mutters, winding his fingers into Percy’s overlong, pale hair and _shoving_. The heel of his palm finds the base of Percy’s skull, meets resistance when first Percy’s nose and then his face hit the mattress and refuse to go any further. “I don’t want to see your damn face right now.”

Percy groans at that, incoherent words against the sheets that sound suspiciously like _as you wish_ , before Vax thrusts into him again and he makes that _noise_  - the sharp one, pained, arousal-laced, like Vax has kissed him slow and soft and then bitten through his tongue.

It’s one of Vax’s favourite noises, in a twisted kind of way, so _easy_ to drag out of him with too little preparation and too rough a fuck. So he drives his hips forward again, and again, until Percy’s biting at a mouthful of fabric to keep quiet, the wings of his shoulder blades like a mountain range against the faint line of his spine as every muscle tenses, trembling.

Whether he’s shaking from pain or pleasure, Vax doesn’t much know, and in that moment doesn’t much care.

When his hand slips from its bruise-tight grip on one thin hip and gropes below Percy’s waist to curl around his cock, he’s still hard, but that means almost nothing. Percy’s fucked up, Vax knows - they both know, have known ever since the first time Vax beat him to the edge of bloody and he came out the other end gasping, hands shaking, forehead pressed against Vax’s thigh as he whispered _please_  and _sorry_  and _let me make it up to you_.

(Vax has known _he_ was fucked up ever since he said _yes_ , dug his fingers deep into Percy’s hair and fucked his face right after, bloody nose and rising purple-red bruises and all. It’s okay. He’s made his peace with it. He _has_.)

“ _Please_ ,” gasps Percy, the word just about audible despite his mouth being muffled by the sheets. His hair’s a mess, skin scratched red-raw over his many scars and slicked with sweat, and Vax has no idea what he’s begging for and doesn’t _care_. He doesn’t care about Percy’s wants, his needs, doesn’t care about anything other than the sound of skin on skin, the sound of Percy’s stuttering breaths, the curl of warmth like a strangling vine round his stomach-

He comes with a cry choked to silence in his throat, eyes closed and teeth sunk deep enough into the high arch of Percy’s shoulder blade that he can feel bone against teeth through the thin skin, can taste blood in his mouth. 

Percy cries out for both of them, instead, shudders beneath Vax as he fucks Percy through it like he’s not quite sure how to be still. His fingers curl claws into the sheets, and his breath strangles in his chest, and if the strange tightness written across his face before wasn’t _quite_  pain then it definitely is now. He doesn’t pull away, though, doesn’t say a word - just takes it, takes and takes and _takes_  as he always seems to do in so many ways.

In place of pleasure, in the aftermath, Vax just feels… cold. He pulls out, lets Percy go, looks at the marks he’s left - bruised hips, scratched back, a perfect, bloodied, almost-circle print of teeth over far older scars. The injuries he’s inflicted, minor little things, are hardly noticeable against the ruined canvas that is Percy’s skin and in a distant, abstract way, Vax is something close to disappointed.

Percy collapses against the mattress, still shaking, the minute Vax’s hands are off him. He makes no move to touch himself, no move to seek his own orgasm - instead, his hand finds the imprint of Vax’s teeth against his flesh, fingers worrying at the ragged edges of the wound to feel the hot blood beading there. Pain, after all, is a more reliable, a more _consistent_ , sensation than pleasure. More trustworthy. He presses a bitten-ragged nail into the split in his skin, and his eyes flutter closed, lips pulled tight in a grimace as the tension bleeds from him inch by steady inch.

Vax watches him, silent, cold, and tries to feel something. _Anything_.

When nothing comes, he closes his own eyes, and sighs, and runs a hand through the cooling-sweat dampness of his hair. He thinks, perhaps, that they both deserve this - Percy, his pain, and him, the creeping rot of guilt that’s slowly turning his insides to ice.


End file.
